The Road Behind us as we travel FORword

“The road behind us as we travel forward:”

We can look back along the dusty path, two roads diverged from an urban jungle…
A spork in the road.
A path chosen that leads through ideas, innovation and technology
Strife, struggle, impulse, revolution—a superior risotto eating utensil
Documentation of all this somehow…and then we wonder.
A life full of wonder, a WONDERFUL life.
Can we SOLVE or DISSOLVE?
Financial planning problem solving dissolved like sea salt in Brita filtered water
To a history forgotten…but still exists, CAPITALISMO!
Unfair free trade, fair trade comes at is costs.
A new beginning in a culmination of progress
Powerful ideas.
Put to rest.
Come to life!
Because…“There is nothing more POWERFUL than an idea whose TIME has COME!
Jesus laughs as Buddha weeps
Both all knowing omniscient unconscious synonyms: Sun/God, ignorance is common, above antonyms, are just the norm, underground synonyms, then peace, now war.
Parallels…like train tracks, but what causes train wrecks?
Derails—freedom from the track.
Free by any means, freedom, it means!
Yesterday I was sitting at an infamous dive bar staring at its red bricks.
Realizing I never really read books.
I read Inscriptions on the wall
Red ink messages engraved on red bricks.
I continued to read.
Two question marks the spot
¿Que?
“X “marks the spot?
“What?”
And exclamations, the way its read, or the way we read it, or the color red.
Read red words on red bricks and tell your friends red bricked stories and how you read them on red bricks.
Tangible thoughts coming to life expectancy glistened…like morning dew drops—Listened…
Like she wanted me to…
Shooting stars in the distance dancing across our milky way
And…today I’ve FOUND my way!
But tomorrow I walk on longer, windy roads, leading to windy desert oases.
Windy windy roads of frosted memories.
Jogging to stay in shape, and remembering that just jogged my memory…
FIGMENTS of imagination, creating a MANIFESTATION OF THE PEACE
Is just one puzzle piece.
Please offer silence, one piece at a time.
Or, offer peace please.
Feel and seal the deal, our rights are freedom of thought, freedom to WRITE!
Though thought without the “t” its just a conjunction I propose a position
An omission of prose, cause I forgot the “T’s” in though(t)s {those} THOUGH’T’S,
So I guess they weren’t really THOSE THOUGHTS!
Y
Existe un momento…to feel an emotion entre tiempo y espacio…
Space vs. Time
¿Pero cuantos….e quando?
Tangible vs. Intangible
Nonsensical pain and pleasure: enlightenment nirvana, black white, suffering and non suffering…all…possible…Even plausible!
Sitting ovations oddly applausable.
Performances appeasable, palpable, edible and even palatable.
We will always have love and sacrifice…
Are you afraid, or a frayed knot?
I am NOT afraid.
You are a knot tied to the pillars of untangled tangible philosophies neglected by people who never quite respected your analogies
Monologues are left unspoken to be read in your secret diaries.
Burn the edges to seal in security. Lock out insecurity.
No longer a frayed knot.
No longer afraid, I am NOT.

By Trent Hartman, Meaningless Metaphors
“The road behind us as we travel forward”
A Compilation of collected metaphorical nonsense: 9/29/09
A member of the Vetted Word Community: “Poets Wanted”

Gorgeous

You're gorgeous...
But not that melancholy self loathing I wish I had you--
Love poem tantalizing unattainable...
No.
You are gorgeous!
Oh so sweet like mango juices pumping through veins of deliciousness
Intrinsic within
Self Reason
Crimes against personal
Treason
To think otherwise
No surprise
Time suspended
upside-down
Like sunrise...
Love repeated.

Coffee President

I Like My Coffee How I Like My Presidents

by Trent Hartman




I like my coffee how I like my Presidents. Shade grown in Indonesia and cultivated on the hills of pacific islands, or grown by ancestors in the heartland of Kenya, the cradle of human civilization. Picked, dried and roasted by hand on what were once large coca fields, now running profitable organic ventures. I like my coffee like I like my President, drinking it first thing in the morning and digested with a glimmer of freedom knowing that is why I am a citizen of this world.



Fairly Traded to be consumed by an alleged free market from all parts of the world sometimes for $4.28 a cup. A marked up price attempted possibly batched by a bad barista, or so inorganically streamlined that you are assured it will get your day going. Or served from your

favorite cafe, by your best friend and barista who creates a simple cup of joe into a masterpiece. A delicious latte with a good friend, profound, articulate and innovative conversation to spark ideas that caress your eagerness to follow your dreams. I like my coffee like I like my Presidents, shared with cobblers and tailors, artists and CEOs at cafes around the world, short pulled espresso shots or hot and sweet like a Cuban cigar, sticky and dark like a Turkish or mastered to perfection with a small hand crafted dessert morsel.



I like my coffee like I like my President, economically bailed out or not, I still need it everyday, all day, and even sometimes at night, its the reassuring blend of filtered and roasted goodness that I am addicted to.



I like my coffee how I like my Presidents, black, bold and in the morning!






-- Trent Hartman
Meaningless Metaphors

Live Love Live

With or without $
its all the same
Happiness to protect
Freedom to achieve
Define
ask
Reflect
Listen & Learn
YEARN
Live Love Live

The Modernism Prism

1the modernism prism...
1
1 like thoughts put down to rest.
1 OR, unadulteRated R Rated
1 cynical freedom of the press.
1 Reflected and Refracted
1 Precisely sliced-
1 Like a surgeon...
1
1 Extracted
1
1 Like dictators
1 limiting.
1 morals
1 AND
1 religion.
1 Controlled.
1 Like dice rolled
1 pit bosses and house favoured
1 ODDS.
1 In at life's odds
1 Strife.
1 Excite.d.
1 Adventure.s.
1 Repent
1 Confess
1 -or-
1 Believe
1 and
1 Achieve!
1
1
one.



10-23-2007

If love is blind...

If love is blind...





...then who will listen to the deaf?

"Passed and Past: 'Butterfly Pushed Sequel'"

*meaningless*metaphors*


Back on track I feel as though these canvass streets have led me astray...today.
I once felt like a butterfly pushpinned on velvet wall for all to display
Carved out of the wood block of what they like to call reality's fallacy
I felt as though my wings were snipped, clipped, punctured battered and bruised that led me to a period not just more than confused…

…but now that seems like a mere yesterday.

Despite my plight I flew relentlessly amongst that broken sky ,
pushpinned needles tore through treacherous terrors that charred my wingspan
And on that once and pondered day I looked down into an abyss of carpedted darkness…
Only to know the truths of what I truly miss…

But now its bliss, rebirth with a one start charcoal kiss
I now see from above that carpeted blanket of a deep abyss one that I used to truly miss, passing in the darkness as I sore towards new days with fresh suns rays

A glance at sunshine that diminishes in a cloudy haze
The kind that falls so blindly and screams relentlessly to deaf ears--
and those tears drip dreary relentlessness matters of abstract realities…
Scared, screaming…fears that no one seems to hear
that no one seems to hear
That NO ONE seems to…be here…for me, or you?
...and even then they still they tend to go unnoticed...

Now flying high in the pristine sky I can finally sense your five senses
Sensing me to sense something...sense something Wrong and begin to convey your subtle messages to the tune of a Siren's songs
But masked by your beauty I played your tune out of key
Lost one finger and my nine nails inch along the treble cleffs like blind lemmings led to miracles to see
Guided like the Titanic lost at sea...Its hard for me to Vitamin C...

Beacons of lighthouse hope arise preminitions around those fluttering ambitions...

Will I EVER be heard or just remain in the buffalo herd nibbling on grassy knolls inhaling inhibitions for the world to see my hopeless exhibitions
And each bite has an impact that intertwines in a seemless cycle that never seems to repeat exact
Never repeats exactly…in the same manner cause FUCK all your debutant manors and mannerisms
I try to find myself...again...amongst other lost and benign souls
So, if two lost souls make a right, the look at who is left
And this is where we find each other, beside one another.

Best kept secrets like lies illuminate starry skies with constellations that somehow don't fit astronomy’s description
I am, as they say, a Virgo--lost in the Milky Way
But if you are my painter the refill your brush and repaint these canvassed streets
So I can perform my glorious feats, I now walk barefoot on these prickly streets

Each stroke pinpoints where to go like topographic maps
Your scribbled contours guide me in search of more
And only begin to guide me on my never ending quest to explore
But as the lines intersect, I begin to realize that
…(there is nothing more)…
-Or-
That the only constant is change and the only thing that is changing is alluding us
Brooding us, searching for us as we are searching for them
And now with my holy water glass no longer half empty--
Its full to the brim
Boiling over like melting pots of insignificant truths
Where the only constant is that nothing is for sure
But now my rekindled butterfly's wings can begin to flap free and pure
Finally completed my metamorphosis process outside knocking on your front door
And now its our time to soar
Like moving on forgetting memories like the Raven...Never More

We are the manifestation of the butterfly that flapped its wings in Kansas that caused earthquakes in Mongolia, Hurricanes in the Carribean and sunshine in Antarctica
My vase sits on a pedestal no longer broken, pieced back together and no longer full of misled misconceptions of immaculate conceptions
Reaching for new goals I encounter new challenges like overcoming the past...
Now that that has passed its time to remember to remember
and remember to release
Remember to remember and remember to release
Remember to release and your soul will be at ease
And now that release has released and relinquished my uninhibiting peace
Only to come to the realization of realizing that I lived through it
I am living through it
So what was it? And what IS it?
And it is…exactly that…that it WAS!
Simply this, now simply that...
Nothing more than what we just passed…the past.


-T Simp


‘Passed and Past’

Written around July 2004, edited July, 2008
Rekindled and published by T Simp, Oakland, CA
Dar Far for Life, This One and the Next!

*meaningless*metaphors*

Sanskrit and Grits

-udated, probably around july 2007-

Left over pizza and coffee
Hungover at my computer I sit
Wondering what it would be like...
If I could write in Sanskri
But shit
I fill my mouth with buttery grits
And hope that one day my poetry blog
Might get more than six hits


Sanskrit

and

Grits




~trent simpson's meaningless metaphors~

Meaningless Metaphors 3-02-2007

I passively attack delicate matters with sledge hammers and smash them like windows on golf courses with seven irons on Sundays.
I speak in ridiculous oxymorons to juxtapose the reality that we are surrounded by elected morons who go off of unconfirmed evidence they supposed.
I often hide in the shadows cause I hate to expose the fact that each waking moment adds inspiration for my prose.
A writer with secrets only my notebook knows
Like shredded CIA documents filed in top secret rows.
My blood line blotted and bottled from a stranger, Ive never seen anything stranger--like allahs son Jesus raised in a manger...

These lies only grow.

Forced into an ubiquitous mystery of misery, I stare down and walk aimlessly
Off center I begin to spill coffee in my hungover state like a struggling poet
Tattered leather couches, wandering souls, headaches--I have no idea where my house is.
Slicing through butter like hot knives through sticky sausages heated by microwaves.
I allude to obscurity and fill up on verbal obesity served on silver platters
Often dwelling on things that dont really matter...or do they?
My house is now falling the noises the clatter, it bothers me, it shatters my brain.

Into pieces

And when that happens I get so excited I prance on sofas
like Tom Cruise on Oprah
I look like
With fleeting feeling I get thinking there is hope--uh...



...I really dont know

Pinned Like a Butterfly

I feel like a butterfly push-pinned to a velvet wall flapping to get free

So beautiful in its struggle, yet hopeless, trapped, and waiting so desperately

But with my wings clipped I cannot fly among the sinking rays of the broken sky—the sun shattered into pieces bringing darkness

There I lay in my abyss amongst carpeted blackness and I begin to know the truth to what I truly miss

Like the blink of an eye where in that instant you missed the only glimpse of pure bliss—Found on this green earth…

but its not so green anymore

Like the touch of a beautiful queen, pushed into you on the street…holding her boyfriends hand, but you caught her sight…For just one eternal instant her eyes met yours and the scarlet letter A blinded her and made you turn away

Then, holding your breath only to exhale her thoughts and become in tune to her rhythm as you lie next to each other in bed—tired but not willing to drift into dreary distance of sleep because our harmonious gasps for air have become intertwined and we feel as though we are divine

Like closing your eyes as if it were for the last time and replaying all the beauty in this world

Because your beauty made me walk down endless desert roads without water

And your beauty made me climb the highest peaks without oxygen.

Your beauty made me dive to the deepest depth gasping for one last breath…one last breath of you…exhaled…but now I am blind

I took in all the beauty of the world for one last glimpse of you

But you left me with just that vision and now I’m like a vagabond on your voyage freely floating around on this globe searching for one last breath of you

Its like playing cards where you have four aces I lost against with a pair of twos

The adrenaline pumps as my heart races

Lost in the valleys of wide open spaces

Where, glacial tills erode our history and wash away a path along my hearts misery

There you will forever be enshrined as the alpin-glow lights illuminate the way

Questions bleed from my veins hoping to wake up another day

And as my chest grows beyond your absence--I might as well become abstinate, I cant go on with these lies…I cant go on with this disguise, I want to just take one last look and for the last time… close my eyes

Meaningless Metaphors

This blog will be a place where I can store and share my poetry, the poetry of others and the things that inspire me: past, present and future.